


the devil always made me think twice

by dandelionslute



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-02-23 06:14:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23340331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dandelionslute/pseuds/dandelionslute
Summary: 'The devil always made me think twice.'It was something he remembered his mother saying to him when he was ageing into young adulthood. ‘When the devil tempts us with risky thoughts, drink, sex or lust - always think twice. Remember your virtues - remember to be good.’Except the devil was sitting in front of him, and he wanted to be anything but good.
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 1
Kudos: 20





	the devil always made me think twice

_The devil always made me think twice._

It was something he remembered his mother saying to him when he was ageing into young adulthood. ‘ _When the devil tempts us with risky thoughts, drink, sex or lust - always think twice. Remember your virtues - remember to be good.’_

Except the devil was sitting in front of him, and he wanted to be _anything_ but good.

Because the devil wasn’t a huge winged beast with horns and a pitchfork, reigning over the fiery pits of hell and tempting sinners towards damnation. Instead, the devil was an olive skinned witch with black hair like coal that hung in curls past her shoulders, and piercing purple eyes that, to be fair, reminded him a little bit of hellfire.

And sure, maybe he was a _little_ tempted.

_Who was he kidding - gods, he would burn for a thousand years if it were at her feet._

“What are you staring at?” Yennefer’s voice breaks him from his trance and he looks at her with utter confusion, like he’s not quite sure where he’s been for the past five or so minutes.

“Mmm?” Jaskier raises his eyebrows, pursing his lips, bringing himself back into the room and buying himself a minute amount of time to compose a response.

“You’re… unusually quiet,” she replies, cupping her wine and drinking slowly. The noise of the inn carries on around them and they sit across from one another at a table towards the back, orange flames casting shadows on the walls around them. “And you keep staring at my hands.”

“I do not,” Jaskier says with annoyance, shaking his head and picking up his own wine to drink from. _It wasn’t his fault if he couldn’t stop thinking of them tangled through his hair._ He drinks faster and tries to ignore the uncomfortable tightening of his chest and the warm surge of _something_ spreading through his belly. “I’m just concerned for our friend.”

Geralt had left them behind, insistent he could handle the wraith on his own and that he wouldn’t be gone long. Yennefer had tried to convince him to let her tag along, that she could be rid of the creature in an instant, but when Geralt declined the offer, Jaskier assumed he needed the hunt. And Jaskier, although disappointed he wouldn’t get a chance to take first hand notes of the adventure, was less annoyed than he expected to be at being left behind with the mage.

“He’ll be fine,” she says cooly, looking about the inn.

Jaskier watches her as she surveys the room, the observant scanning of her eyes and gentle swallow against her pale throat. Her calm breath, almost bored expression, hands idly fiddling with her coat sleeves. In his mind he sees flashes of it falling to the floor, his pale skin a cool contrast against hers, his teeth sunken into her collar, her legs wrapped around his waist as he holds her up against a wall. This time it’s him who swallows, staring at her with a look somewhere between lust and panic, desire and terror.

Yennefer catches it.

“ _What?”_ she asks without hiding the frustration in her voice, glaring at him.

“Nothing,” he says too quickly, catching his lower lip with his teeth. _Cool it._

“Then stop staring at me,” she quips, clasping her hands on the table in front of her and leaning in a little closer. “Or I’ll just have to take a peek inside your pretty little head and see what’s so fascinating.” Jaskier’s eyes widen and she laughs, head tipped back a little, soft curls falling past her cheeks. “Don’t look so concerned, bard. Nothing in your head could surprise me.”

 _Don’t be so sure_.

They spend most of the evening like this, with a hard wooden table between them, but the more wine they drink, they smaller it seems.

“None of these girls take your fancy then?” Yennefer asks, returning from the bar and sitting two goblets on the table. She slips back into her seat with her back pressed against the wall, and Jaskier grumbles something about ‘ _well I can’t see very well from here_ ’ before moving around and sliding up beside her, ignoring all the empty space on the bench seat and sitting close enough that their thighs press together.

His head rests back against the wall and he takes in the room, and sure, there’s plenty of pretty women drinking and dancing, but none of them have raven hair and look like they could eat him alive, so he’s really not that interested.

“Not my type,” he says dismissively, his eyes slightly lidded from the warm comfort of wine and his tongue darting out to wet his mouth.

“I didn’t think you had a type,” Yennefer says with a smirk, her finger tracing along the rim of her goblet. Her body feels warm and she leans in to give him a playful bump, and doesn’t move away.

Jaskier looks sideways at her, and where Yennefer expects to see a cheeky smile in return, she’s met with something a little more serious. A little more dark, desperate and honest. “I do tonight,” he mutters, and he looks down at the place where their thighs are touching.

Yennefer notes the bob of his adams apple as he swallows thickly, the spark in his eyes as they flick back up and leer at her. “Ah,” she says quietly, and her finger stops tracing her wine. “That’s why you looked like you’d just seen a ghoul when I suggested taking a look into your mind.”

Jaskier nods, silently, his hand moving from its place on his thigh across to hers, fingers tracing slow circles above her knee and creeping higher. His eyes stay staring into hers with a dark focus, his mouth parting slightly as his fingers dance inward slightly. And he knows, _he knows,_ that he shouldn’t be doing this, because Yennefer is with Geralt. Or sort of with Geralt. They do spend a lot of time apart, and Jaskier knows Geralt’s not exactly monogamous when she’s not around. But _still._ Geralt was his friend, and Yennefer was _his_.

_And it only made Jaskier want her more._

He’d always had a problem with this game of chasing women who were already spoken for. It made it so much more fun, to chase and court and steal a woman away from her lover, even just for a night. Something about the thrill of it made his head spin and his body thrum with excitement.

But this wasn’t about that. This was about _her_.

Because he couldn’t stop thinking about _her_. Not the shape of her hips or her delicate wrists or the way her body might look all stretched out underneath him. Not that he _didn’t_ think of those things. But he thought of _more_. He thought about the way she tried to comfort scared children in the towns they passed through, and the way she looked slightly worn after a complicated spell, but somehow more beautiful. The way he wanted to stroke his fingers down her cheek in the small hours of morning and press his forehead into hers. He thought about the way she wanted _everything_ and how badly he wanted to give it to her. He thought about the storm raging underneath her skin, and how he would let her absolutely ruin him, if she wanted to. He’d put a fucking crown made of her enemies bones on her head if she wanted. He’d call her Queen and still sit in the dirt at her feet if that’s all she’d give him.

_Was that love? Or insanity?_

He thinks about the way her hand has slipped into his lap.

“Speak,” she interrupts, and he simply croaks, “I can’t.”

“Then _do_ ,” she murmurs, curling into his body and scratching the fingers of her other hand on his chest.

_The devil always made me think twice._

“I can’t,” he repeats, voice strained like it hurts him. He squeezes his eyes and his head spins, but not from the wine.

“Why not?”

His eyes open and fix on her small hand palming over his lap. He thinks how soft the skin of her fingers looks, gentle and delicate and smooth, and then about the raging chaos underneath. It makes his heart thump and he chokes out “Geralt.”

“Hm? Geralt and I are not exclusive, bard,” Yennefer says, her hand moving slow and teasing, not caring much about the bustling pub around them. She quickly pushes away from Jaskier and twists on the seat to look back at him. He’s learning back, looking somehow both relaxed and tense, a little damp from the heat of the crowded inn and the wine. He looks at her like a starved man and the silver platter’s hanging just out of reach. “He doesn’t own me.”

_Can I then?_

“That’s not my point. _He loves you_ ,” Jaskier says, and the currant sparking between them has him slightly breathless. Her hand stays in his lap, and in a moment of weakness he takes hold of it and squeezes her around himself. “How do you think he’d feel about this?” he asks, voice dark and hissing. Before Yennefer can answer, he takes his other hand and wraps it around her waist, dragging her in, pulling their faces close together. “You think he’d be okay with you fucking his best friend? Think he’d mind knowing I’d touched those parts of you too?”

Talking about fucking his best friend’s lover shouldn’t excite him, and manhandling a sorceress who could scorch him alive shouldn’t make his hips jerk, but it does. And Yennefer clearly feels it beneath her palm. “Maybe we should talk about this in private,” she says with a sharp breath, looking between his face and his lap. She drags him from the seat, leading him upstairs by the front of his shirt, and his hands grab at her hips as he eagerly follows.

Neither of them notice the white haired man lurking in the corner, watching.


End file.
